


(Out of the Tree of Life) I Just Picked Me a Plum

by kim47



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Fluff, M/M, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 04:29:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kim47/pseuds/kim47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem with Cas is that he has <i>no fucking sense</i> of what’s appropriate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Out of the Tree of Life) I Just Picked Me a Plum

**Author's Note:**

> My first Supernatural fic (oh god.) This is entirely [Chris](http://twitter.com/TangyPoots)'s fault. He said "hahaha imagine if Cas found one of Dean's sex toys" and then I wrote this. Title from Michael Buble, I'm classy like that. Also because I feel like Dean would hate Michael Buble.
> 
> Set in a future that's AU after somewhere in the middle of season six. Just go with it.

*

Dean Winchester does not do embarrassment.

There was a time, sure, when he’d occasionally feel the squirm of it in his stomach, and have to fight down the blush, or look away and change the subject. No one was quite as good at making him feel it as John. But now, Dean has been to hell and back, he’s battled demons, angels, and the Devil himself and he’s still alive. So really, Dean figures there’s nothing that could possibly embarrass him. Ever. There’s nothing he can’t follow up with “yeah? Well an angel pulled me out of hell and my brother and me saved the entire fucking world two times over.”

What he had not accounted for, however, was Castiel.

And isn’t that always it. He’s failed to factor Cas in before, and always, always regretted it. Cas surprises him time and time again, always does the unexpected. Not to mention that he makes Dean feel _things_ which are better left unexamined for the sake of all involved. 

But on top of all that, Cas has _no fucking sense_ of what’s appropriate and what’s not.

Dean’s always known this, sure, ever since the first time Cas got all up in his personal space and stared at him, unblinking, until Dean couldn’t fucking breathe without rippling Cas’s hair. He just forgets it sometimes, especially since Cas is a lot better at it lately. So, in some weird twisted way, he probably deserves this.

They’re in Baker County, Oregon and Dean is exhausted. It’s a shitty motel room like every other shitty motel room they’ve ever stayed in (although, this one has Magic Fingers, though, so come to think of it, it’s definitely a step up from the last dump they stayed in). Sam’s off at the library or getting coffee or communing with nature or some shit, and Dean just wants to be asleep, like ten minutes ago. 

He’s just flopped down on the bed when there’s a rustling of wings and trench coat and Castiel appears next to the kitchenette. Normally, Dean would be glad to see him. But Cas being here means there’s he has a case for them and right now Dean wants nothing to do with it. 

“Dude, no,” he says, and sure it’s not the friendliest greeting, but whatever. Cas is an archangel or something now, he can deal.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Dude, _no_.” He rolls over and buries his face in the slightly mouldy pillow. “We’ve just driven fifteen hours, my left shoulder still hurts from where the last thing I killed tried to rip it off, and I haven’t had a drink in nearly two weeks. I am going to sleep, for about thirty-six hours, then I’m going to eat the biggest steak I can find, drink at least a fifth of jack, and then maybe we can talk.”

“Dean,” Cas says, and fuck. How does Cas do that? He manages to make it pleading and disappointed and hopeful all in one, and Dean feels like _shit_ for saying no. He sits up and glares at Cas.

“What?”

“I do not require your assistance.”

Dean blinks.

“Oh.” And now he’s slightly disappointed, what the fuck. “Why’re you here, then?” He winces as soon as the words are out. It’s not that he doesn’t want Cas here, he’s just not used to it happening without any particular divine purpose. Not outside his dreams, anyway.

Cas shifts awkwardly and looks away from Dean’s eyes, glancing around the room. He has the tie of his trench coat wrapped around one hand and he’s slightly flushed. Words like _cute_ and _adorable_ float across Dean’s mind.

“Cas?”

“I - I said once, I’d rather be here, most times.” Yeah, Dean remembers that, and he remembers the way it’d made his pulse jump and his breath catch slightly. “Well, that remains true, whatever else may have changed. I --”

And now Dean’s grinning because Castiel, holy archangel of the Lord, sheriff of heaven and God’s favourite, just wants to hang out. With him. Yeah, Dean’s awesome.

“Hey, no problem, man,” he says, and Cas relaxes instantly. He’s still standing somewhat gawkily in the middle of the room, because this is Cas, and he doesn’t know what to do when he’s not striding purposefully, sticking an angel blade in something, or standing unnecessarily close to Dean, but he no longer looks uncomfortable. “But, uh, I’m still pretty beat, so...”

“That is not a problem. I will simply entertain myself until Sam returns.”

Dean suspects that Cas’s version of entertaining himself will involve watching Dean sleep, but to his relief, Cas sits down and turns on the television. He flicks through the channel until he finds a rerun of CSI: Miami. Dean winces, but he’s too tired to have this argument again. 

“Whatever, man,” he mumbles, and turns back to lie down.

The bed’s not the best he’s ever slept on, and he has to move around a little to find a spot where the springs don’t dig into his back and sides. The sound of the television in the background is weirdly soothing, as long as he doesn’t actually hear any of the dialogue. He’s very aware of Cas being in the room, the air feels like it’s shifted to accommodate him, but it’s just makes him feel safer, more comfortable. 

He’s not really aware of the time passing, and it isn’t til Cas says “Dean?” very softly that he realises he’s been hovering on the edge of sleep for a while, without ever properly dropping off. His head is fuzzy and he’s still fucking exhausted, and he presses his face into the pillow in frustration.

“Are you asleep?” Cas adds a moment later.

Dean sighs. “Yes.”

There’s silence for a moment, then:

“I don’t understand, you said yes, but --”

“Jesus, Cas, what is it?” He’s properly awake again now and he sits up to face Cas. The television is off, and Cas is sitting on the other bed with his hands clasped in his lap.

“The show ended.”

“And?”

“There’s nothing else on.”

“ _And_?”

Cas doesn’t say anything, but Dean recognises the look on his face. He’s seen it on Sam’s face a thousand times; it always meant that Sam was _bored_ and whatever Dean was doing, he needed to stop doing right away and entertain Sam. Christ, how does Cas even know that look? 

“Seriously, Cas, find something to do, I need to sleep.”

“What should I do?”

“I don’t know! That’s the point of the “yourself” bit! Read a book or something!”

Dean flops back down, stubbornly turning over even though he doubts this conversation is over.

“Where can I--”

Dean stands up, crosses the room to his duffle bag, and picks it up. He crosses to Sam’s bed and dumps it in Cas’s lap. 

“There. There’ll be something in there, just root around for it. Now please, please, _please_ , for the love of everything holy, let me sleep.”

Cas seems to have finally gotten the message, because he nods and starts poking through Dean’s duffle without saying anything further.

Dean sighs in relief and crawls back onto his own bed. And by this point, he really shouldn’t be surprised when, _two minutes_ after he’s lain down again --

“Dean?”

Seriously, he is about to cry. 

“Yes, Cas?” Maybe if he’s just calm and polite this conversation will go faster.

“Why do you possess a silicone replica of human male genitalia?”

Dean whips around, all sleepiness erased, tangles himself up in the bedspread and falls off the side.

“W-what?” he manages from the floor.

Cas is holding, oh holy motherfucking joseph on a cracker, he’s holding a _dildo_ , clearly just pulled out of Dean’s bag and examining it with scientific curiosity. And, fucking fuck fuck, _this is why Dean doesn’t let anyone go through his stuff_.

He springs up and snatches it out of Cas’s hand, shoving it back in the bag.

“Put that away,” he snaps.

Cas looks adorably bemused, and how the fuck can Dean even be thinking that in this situation?

“I didn’t think you were a student of anatomy, Dean. Although I would think that that replica represents an above average penis size, is it modelled from real life?”

Dean sits on the side of Cas’s bed and buries his face in his hands. This is not happening. 

“No, Cas. And I’m _not_ a student of anatomy.”

“Then what is it for? Why do you have it?”

Cas is just sitting serenely next to him, his face open and curious and holding absolutely no fucking shame whatsoever. Christ.

“It’s mine, it’s for me.” Dean licks his lips and fucking hell, he knows he’s blushing and this is so fucking embarrassing, having to explain to an angel of the Lord exactly what a dildo is and what he uses it for. And not just an arbitrary angel, one that Dean’s fought and bled and practically _died_ with. One that he...yeah, not a good time to be thinking about that. “Y’know, to use. On myself.”

He makes a vague hand gesture and then stops immediately. He can see the comprehension dawning on Cas’s face.

“Oh, I believe I understand. You use it to simulate anal s--”

Dean slaps his hand over Cas’s mouth.

“Jesus, Cas, shut up will you?”

Cas nods and Dean slowly removes his hand. The motion brought them much closer together than Dean anticipated, and he suddenly realised their knees are pressed together and he’s kind of leaning into Cas’s space. His face isn’t more than six inches away, when Cas licks his lips, a nervous habit that Dean really, really wishes Cas hadn’t picked up as part of becoming more human because now Dean can’t stop staring at his lips. He knows his cheeks are flushed with embarrassment, and he really, really wishes he had some of Cas’s mojo right now, and could just be somewhere else.

It doesn’t help when Cas reaches out tentatively and settles a hand on his thigh. Dean’s whole body tightens.

“Dean,” he says softly. “I don’t understand why you’re embarrassed. Masturbation is a very common and healthy activity, and I know --”

“Holy shit, Cas, you really need to stop talking.” Seriously, Dean is not going to have a conversation about masturbation with an angel. Definitely not _this_ angel, who may have featured once or twice in Dean’s fantasies while committing said act, and who won’t stop staring at Dean, with absolutely no conception of how completely fucking awkward and embarrassing this situation is.

Cas’s gaze is heavy on his face, and Dean can the flush is spreading to his neck, and probably across his chest, too. This is just another reason he’s glad embarrassment is generally such a foreign notion to him; he blushes like a fucking virgin. He can’t hold Cas’s gaze any longer, his eyes dropping to a spot below Cas’s chin. A terrible idea, as it turns out, because now he can’t stop looking at the patch of skin visible at his open collar, and can’t stop thinking about how nice it would be to lick.

“Dean,” Cas says, and Dean’s going to blame how tired he is for how mesmerized he is by the way Cas’s throat works. And for the way his pulse races when Cas’s hand brushes against his jaw and tips his face up to look at him. “Dean.”

The movement brings them way too close together, and Dean simply shuts his eyes and leans in because he can’t do anything else.

Apparently it’s the right thing to do, because the minute his lips touch Cas’s, Cas slides his hand around Dean’s neck, pulling him in closer. Dean takes the encouragement to heart, and opens his lips against Cas’s, sucking his bottom lip between his own, biting gently when they separate. They part and come together easily, naturally, and then Cas slides his tongue into Dean’s mouth and just like that it’s deep and hot, and Dean needs to _touch_. It’s a little dirty for a first kiss; he’d have thought Cas, being all holy and shit, would've gone in for something a little more chaste. Not that he’s complaining.

He leans right over into Cas’s space and pushes him down on the bed, settling over him, one arm braced on the bed, the other in Cas’s hair, tugging gently, and Cas makes a noise of approval and follows Dean’s lead, letting Dean take and take and take until they’re both panting and breathless. Dean’s good at this, he knows he is, and as long as he doesn’t think too hard about the fact that it’s _Castiel_ underneath him, flushed and grasping and gorgeous, this is going to be fucking fantastic.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Dean says, in between kisses to Cas’s jaw. “If I’d known you were so up for this...”

Cas smiles at him, and it’s so open and fond and guileless that Dean has to look away, has to bury his face in Cas’s neck because he’s really, really not equipped to deal with someone looking at him like that. 

After what feels like hours of making out sloppily on the bed, Cas pushes gently at his shoulders. Dean has a brief moment of panic that he’s somehow managed to fuck this up already, but when he sits up, Cas climbs into his lap and starts kissing his neck. The position is awkward as hell, with Cas still wearing his trench coat and shoes, but Dean’s not about to complain, not when he’s half hard and can feel Cas the same way against him. 

And especially not when Cas, after planting a soft kiss on his lips, reaches behind Dean, into his bag, and draws out the toy again and presses it into Dean’s hand.

“Show me,” he whispers, right against Dean’s lips, and yep, Dean’s there now, ready to go, and ready to get Cas out of his clothes _right now_.

“Yes, fuck, okay,” he says, and pushes Cas off his lap completely and orders him to strip.

Dean pulls off his own t-shirt, and fumbles with his belt buckle and jeans. By he time he’s down to his boxers, Cas is struggling with his tie. He’s managed to lose the coat and suit jacket, but he’s got the tie stuck halfway up his face and he’s tugging desperately at it to no avail. It’s kind of hysterical. He’d think Cas’d be able to zap his way out of his clothes, but maybe that’s considered a misuse of heavenly powers. 

“Calm down, man, take it slower.” Dean steps towards Cas and reaches for the tie. Between the two of them they get it off and Cas goes straight back to kissing him, pressing himself right up against Dean and trailing his hands down his chest. Cas’s hands feel fantastic on his bare skin, and Dean pushes him away reluctantly. 

Cas looks disappointed for a moment, that kicked-puppy look that Dean is totally defenseless against, but it vanishes when Dean starts undoing his shirt, pulling a few buttons right off in his haste. 

When Cas is finally, finally naked, Dean grins at him and pushes him gently, following him down onto the bed. Cas reaches for him so fucking eagerly, spreading his legs so Dean can fit between them and rocking up against him shamelessly as they kiss. 

“Please,” Cas says, almost begging. It’s a huge fucking turn on, seeing uptight, stoic Cas so desperate.“Show me. Show me what you do. I want to see. I want to know.”

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean breathes, as if he could deny Cas anything at this moment. Dean’s pretty sure Cas could ask him to do anything and he would. Sex has always made him a bit stupid. 

He moves to roll off Cas, but Cas grunts his disapproval and pulls him back and they’re kissing again, Cas’s hands all over him, never lingering in one place, as if he’ll never be satisfied until he’s touched every inch of Dean’s skin. Dean gets lost in it, in the heat and closeness, and the pace slows until they’re just kissing slow and deep and so fucking _good_ Dean would cry if he weren’t so turned on. 

Cas eventually lets him go long enough for Dean to lean over the edge of the bed and dig a half-empty bottle of lube out of his duffle, which ended up on the floor at some point in the proceedings. 

And then he’s on his back, fingers slicked, Cas pressing up against his side, flushed and wide-eyed, hand flat against Dean’s chest, eyes fixed on Dean’s fingers.

Jesus, Cas isn’t even _doing_ anything and he’s winding Dean up so fucking tight that this is going to be over far, far too quickly. He takes a breath and starts to work himself open, eyes shut, focusing on the sensations. It’s uncomfortable at first, like always, not to mention that it’s been a while since he did this. It’s hard to get privacy, after all, when an angel with no concept of appropriate visiting hours could turn up at any minute...although it’s now pretty clear Cas would have absolutely no objections to witnessing it. Dean smirks. He’ll have to do this more often, especially if Cas is willing to get so involved in the process.

He adds a second finger, and the ragged gasp Cas gives off sends a thrum of arousal through him, and he’s suddenly desperate to move this along. He opens his eyes and sees Cas, staring down at Dean’s fingers moving slowly in and out of his body and he looks fucking _wrecked_ , breathing shallow, eyes wide, biting his lower lip. 

“Dean,” he breathes out, and it’s obvious there’s nothing to follow, just an exhale of Dean’s name, so fucking reverent that Dean has to close his eyes and take a deep breath to keep himself from totally losing it. 

Dean grasps Cas’s jaw with his free hand and drags him down to his mouth, kissing him messily, swallowing the delicious noises Cas makes.He feels Cas’s hand brushing against his lower stomach, and he shivers when Cas’s hand moves to his inner thighs, almost too light to feel. And there’s no way Cas is being deliberately teasing - virgin angel here - but it’s driving Dean nuts, he just wants Cas’s hand _on him_ properly, somewhere, anywhere. 

Then, finally, Cas’s finger brushes against his rim and Dean’s entire body shudders, because somehow when Dean wasn’t watching, Cas had slicked up his own fingers, and fuck, that’s _Cas’s finger_ pressing in, joining the two of Dean’s, and it’s a stretch, but he’s being fingered by an angel of the Lord and unless he stops thinking about that right the fuck now, he’s going to be hysterical.

“Fuck, Cas, _yes_ ,” he says instead, mouthing along Cas’s jaw. Cas hums and starts to move in earnest, and Dean follows his lead, and Christ, if he’d known it would be this good, this easy, he’d have jumped Cas months ago.

Way too soon, Cas moves away entirely, but before Dean can coordinate his mouth and his brain enough to object, he feels slick silicone being pressed into his hand. Jesus. He’s almost forgotten what started this all. He opens his eyes properly. Cas is sitting back, not touching Dean at all, which is a crying fucking shame, but his eyes are dark and his hair’s a mess and he’s giving Dean an expectant look that makes him shiver.

Taking a steadying breath and absolutely not looking at Cas, he slides the toy around his rim, nudging it in a little, enjoying the stretch. It’s an awkward angle, he’d prefer to be on his front, but there’s something amazing about being spread out like this, on his back with his knees bent, Cas’s eyes raking over him. He pushes the dildo in in earnest, and it feels fucking fantastic, hard and tight and full, and the way Cas’s breath catches and the way he moves a fraction closer isn’t bad either. 

Dean rocks back and forwards a little, building a rhythm. It’s _good_ , made even better when Cas, eyes still firmly fixed on where he’s fucking himself on the toy, moves closer and starts touching him, hands sweeping across his chest, his legs. He angles the toy deeper and shifts his hips, and _fuck_ that’s perfect, it’s hitting his prostate on every other stroke and Dean’s about to _lose his mind_ and where it’d been a slow burn before, he suddenly needs to come about ten minutes ago. 

“Cas, _please_ ,” he manages, and finally, Cas presses in properly, right against Dean’s side, his erection sliding over Dean’s hip, and he wraps his hand around Dean’s cock and lowers his mouth to Dean’s neck and _holy shit_ , it only takes about ten rapid, awkward strokes and Cas licking across his pulse point, and Dean’s done. He groans long and loud, coming all over his stomach and Cas’s hand.

Thighs shaking a little, Dean sinks down into the mattress, panting and sweaty, and he slides the toy out gingerly, wincing at the weirdly-empty feeling that always follows. It takes a moment, which he feels is fucking fair enough, he just got jerked off by an _angel_ for God’s sake, but he’s finally aware that Cas is panting against his neck, “Dean, Dean, _Dean_ ,” and he finally gets the message and reaches down to wrap his hand around Cas’s dick and get him off as quickly as possible. At the last moment, he nudges Cas’s head up and kisses him as he comes, trying and failing not to feel smug when Cas says “Fuck, Dean,” right into his mouth. He probably shouldn’t feel so good about corrupting an angel.

Cas basically collapses on top of him when he’s done, sprawled across half of Dean’s body, arm around Dean’s chest, face smashed awkwardly into the side of Dean’s. They’re sweaty and gross, and it’s not terribly comfortable, but he can’t help the way his eyes are closing and the unbelievable contentment thrumming under his skin. Good sex always puts him straight to sleep, which can be fucking awkward given how many one night stands he has. It feels almost embarrassingly good to be able to fall asleep with Cas on top of him, to not have to worry about waking up with the person he just slept with. 

In fact, he’s counting on it.

“‘s good,” he mumbles into what seems to be Cas’s eye socket.

“Hmm,” Cas hums, and Dean knows Cas doesn’t sleep, not now that he’s fully angel’d-up, but Cas seems to be doing it anyway, and holy shit, Dean _fucked an angel to sleep_ and he hopes he remembers that later, when he’s fully awake to appreciate it.

“Next time,” he mumbles, just as sleep ( _finally_ ) overtakes him, “I’ll show you the rest of them.”


End file.
